


blood like rain drops

by g0ryllama



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Blood, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Feral Moomin, Gore, Horror, I can't stress this enough, Just a quick clarification, Lima Syndrome, Murder, Other, Please Don't Hate Me, Snufkin isn't physically hurt, So out comes the horror, Sometimes I need a break from writing smut, Stockholm Syndrome, This is fucked up and not fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 01:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g0ryllama/pseuds/g0ryllama
Summary: His stomach drops as the assailant gains on him, footsteps heavy on the wet forest floor, the light from their lantern casting long shadows around Snufkin as he runs for his life, his only regret not saying goodbye to Moomintroll one last time.The ground seems to rise up against him, and he trips, falling flat on his back and scrambling back on his hands and feet desperately, fear clouding his judgement.He’s going to die here.





	1. Fillyjonk Dies

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: IF YOU IGNORED THE TAGS DO NOT BLAME ME. This is a **horror/murder story** , proceed with caution please. None of this is fun, none of this is happy, none of it is healthy. Yes I am aware that the boys are good and nice and kind, no I don't care because this is a _story_. It probably won't be really disturbing just because I'm not that good at writing disturbing things but hey.
> 
> Also before we go on, any aspects of a less friendly relationship between Snuf and Moom in this fic are not healthy, and I don't really think I should have to clarify that but just so y'all know where I stand, I don't view this particular dynamic as healthy or happy whatsoever. I tagged Stockholm Syndrome _and_ Lima Syndrome for that very reason (you'll see why towards the end).
> 
> Anyway, now that is over, hi! I hope you all enjoy it :)

On his travels, Snufkin has met many people. Farmers, police, mothers. One or two scientists.

One of said scientists specialised in studying biology, and they had a long talk about different classifications. The scientist showed Snufkin many different specimens he had, a few more macabre than others; butterflies pinned to white board, stuffed animals (some Snufkin had recognised from his journeys). Perhaps the one that left the deepest pit in his stomach was the skull with a shape much too familiar to him for his own comfort.

Big eye sockets, a long snout. A moomin.

He hadn't understood then, the scientist raving on about hunting and killing and specimens to the point that Snufkin felt uncomfortable, until he left and vowed to never return to such a morbid place.

Maybe now, he thinks, he understands the fascination. The curiosity. The desperation. If only he'd come to understand sooner.

* * *

 

Snufkin has never felt more comfortable than when he's sat on the bridge next to Moominhouse, fishing in the serene quiet of the early morning, the clatter of plates and cups soft but noticeable not too far away.

The sun shimmers in the water like a mirage, clean and crisp and energising, Spring flowers awakening around him like dozing children after taking a Winter nap. A few fish are hungry enough to take his bait, and he pulls them out one by one, to save for dinner later on in his bucket.

He stands, stretching his arms above his head, knocking his hat askew in the process before Snufkin sighs and relaxes, fixing his hat and picking up his bucket and fishing rod, returning to his small campsite. He could've caught more fish but for now he really needs some coffee.

Lighting the fire, Snufkin places his pot over the burning embers, roasting the beans and pouring water over them once the smell is strong enough for his taste.

A beautiful morning, he thinks to himself as he takes a sip of his hot drink, feeling the sun on his face.

"Snufkin, Snufkin, oh Snufkin you must come quickly!"

Or it was, at the very least. A small, ginger-haired creature zooms towards him, face anxious and hands shaking. How very strange. 

"Little My? What is it?" Snufkin douses the fire with the spare water, finishing his drink hurriedly and burning his tongue in the process. But Little My is never anxious, and that she is is cause for concern.

Her eyebrows furrow, and she drags him to his feet before he has a chance to even think about standing. "Follow me!"

So he does, rushing behind her with haste as she zigzags through the grass, leading him through the valley towards the sounds of a commotion.

They arrive outside Ms Fillyjonk's house, Snufkin panting softly from running so suddenly and without warm-up.

As he straightens his posture, he takes in the scene around him.

It appears that the whole of Moominvalley has gathered here for some reason, faces panicked and scared, some clutching each other in fear, others horrified on their own. He can see Snorkmaiden and Sniff holding hands and crying to each other, Mr Hemulen muttering something under his breath, Mymble's Daughter pulling some children away from the scene with a worried glance around the crowd.

And when he's satisfied with his surveillance of the crowd, Snufkin turns his attention to the house for the first time and finds himself understanding their anguish and distress.

Ms Fillyjonk's garden is completely trashed, vegetables strewn here and there, soil completely trodden into the paths surrounding their very organised lines. The gate hangs on a single hinge, creaking quietly in the wind, the wood splintered and utterly destroyed.

Most people are standing outside the fence, looking into the house, but a few, more courageous, onlookers are situated along the path to the front door and inside. A surprise, as Ms Fillyjonk would surely hate having so many people see her house in such a state of disarray.

Snufkin, ever the curious creature, makes his own way down the path, avoiding the carrots and potatoes in his way, weaving between the people gathered around.

The scene inside the front door is so much worse than he'd envisioned, his stomach tightening into knots, bile rising in his throat as the  _ smell _ invades his senses.

There, laid as though fallen on the floor, is Ms Fillyjonk, in a pool of her own dark red blood, still trickling lazily from the gashes in her throat. Her eyes are glazed over, face frozen in an eternal expression of fear, staring at an assailant long gone. A teapot sits, shattered, within her arms reach.

Snufkin leans on the doorframe with little thought for anything but the four slashes through her thin neck, unable to breathe without feeling the stench of death filling his lungs.

"Oi, move out of the way," the police officer commands, pushing his way through the crowd and down the path. "Oh my…"

His shock is understandable. They've never had a murder in Moominvalley before, of that Snufkin's sure, and it's likely the rest of the inhabitants have never witnessed death like this before either.

Most everyone leaves the garden with haste when more police officers arrive on the scene, interviewing everyone for their knowledge and to find any potential witnesses, but Snufkin stays rooted in place, unable to look away, the claw marks somehow familiar to him in a way that leaves a pit in his stomach.

"Did you discover the body, Snufkin?" The police officer asks, pulling him from his focus.

"No, I not long just got here…" He forces himself to tear his eyes from Ms Fillyjonk, frowning at the suspicion in the other's eyes. "... I don't have claws." He holds his hands out to demonstrate, rounded nails clean and not sharp enough to cause such deep slashes.

The police officer sighs, guiding Snufkin towards the gate with a firm hand. "No, but you don't seem to be affected by this. Gotta say, that raises questions."

"Just because you can't see how worried and upset I am doesn't mean I don't feel that way," Snufkin explains with little patience, desperate to run to Moominhouse and tell them of the news. "I think it's more suspicious that you need me to leave."

He can see the police officer getting angry, but Little My comes to his rescue, pulling him away again and firing questions at him with a speed he's never heard her speak at before.

"Little My, slow down, I can't understand you."

"Is she dead? How? What happened? Was there anyone else there?"

"Yes, her neck was slashed, and no, other than spectators." A slight pounding begins at the base of his skull, and he presses the tips of his fingers against it to ease some of the pressure.

Little My begins to talk of murders and horror stories and monsters, until their sister comes over and relieves Snufkin of the duty of talking to her with a gentle, worried smile. “Go and talk to the Moomins, they should be told too. And maybe they’ll give you some tea.”

He nods, placing his hand on his hat and running back in the direction of the stream.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time he reaches Moominhouse, he's out of breath, mind racing. The ladder leading up to Moomintroll's bedroom sways gently, almost peacefully in the light Spring breeze, but all Snufkin can imagine is the strings of Ms Fillyjonk's vocal cords trembling with her last breath.

He's seen death before, plenty of it, more than one person should  _ have _ to see in his opinion, but it doesn't make it any easier. Doesn't stop the sickness deep in his stomach when he closes his eyes and sees the blood.

Swallowing the bile down, Snufkin begins to climb the ladder, tapping gently on the window as he looks in. Moomintroll is sat with his back to the window, and doesn't react to Snufkin's tapping, so he knocks more urgently until the other notices him.

"Oh Snufkin," he says, opening the window and helping Snufkin into his room, a frown on his face when he takes a moment to look at him. "You're trembling, are you okay?"

Being in Moomin's room, he feels suddenly safer, despite knowing he wasn't in any actual danger outside. He hopes. "Not really. You might want to sit down."

They sit on the bed, close enough that Snufkin can feel Moomin's fur brush up against his clothes, and he takes a deep breath before finally letting himself feel the panic settled deep in the recesses of his mind the whole morning. "Ms Fillyjonk is dead."

"Dead?" Moomin asks, eyes wide and full of concern. Snufkin nods, and the troll sighs quietly, looking as though he doesn't know how to react. "How…?"

"I'm pretty sure she was murdered, Moomin," his voice sounds shaky, and he accepts the paw on his shoulder when the other tries to comfort him. "Her neck… Was slashed."

They both sit in the silence following the explanation, thinking of who could do such a thing in a place as peaceful as Moominvalley. No one Snufkin knows from the valley is capable of murder, of that he's sure, so it must be a newcomer, or a predator that lurks in the woods…

But then why kill Ms Fillyjonk of all people? There are plenty of people who don't sleep in big, safe houses that a predator would find more fun to kill. So back to murder.

"Oh Moomintroll, who could do such a thing?"

There's more silence, and when Snufkin chances a glance to his friend, there's an almost frightening intensity in his eyes that wasn't there before. He's never seen such a look on his face, so hard set and… Angry?

No. Frustrated.

"Moomin…?" Snufkin frowns, feeling the paw on his shoulder grip him a little too tight. It must be hard to process for him, so unexpected, especially for someone who has never had to deal with such violent death before. He's glad that the moomins weren't made aware before the police arrived; at least this way Moomintroll won't have to see it. If he's so moved by it now then he dreads to think what it would've done to him to see her like that.

But at the sound of Snufkin's quiet whisper, Moomin pulls his paw away, face softening in an instant. Snufkin's tempted to tell him he doesn't have to hide his feelings about it, especially not with him, but something stops him. "Sorry, it's just a lot… To process…"

Snufkin nods in understanding, and the two of them sit together, safe, for a while, to calm down before heading downstairs to share the news.

But a chill has settled deep into the very core of his being, and Snufkin finds the foreboding settled there more disconcerting than the vision of blood and viscera stamped on his retinas still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i said rare updates i meant it lol
> 
> it should get more interesting soon lol, but we're almost halfway already plotwise so who knows

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily inspired by the fact that Moomins have forward facing eyes... They are predators, they have claws, guys come on.
> 
> When I say feral I mean it.
> 
> You know what's funny is that this is a complete opposite to my other multi-chap fic, isn't that fun XD (duality of a writer)
> 
> I probably won't update this as often, it's more of a side project for me 
> 
> <3


End file.
